The Thin Veils of Autumn

I’m not quite sure if the changing light of Autumn is accountable for what happens to many of us during this time of the year. I’m not quite sure it’s not. Something does happen in this season, that causes many of us to take notice, to listen with a keen ear to nature, to observe those things that are typically unobservable. How do we do that – how do we see through the thin veils?

True, sometimes, I write in riddles. If you are not only aware of the thin veil, but see it, through it… then perhaps you, too, feel the veil becoming more transparent. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, save your surfing time, and click off this site now.

Tonight’s Vice Presidential Debate is replaying on my television at the moment. I’m stunned at the thought that any thinking person doesn’t see how vaguely the structures we’re living within, are organized to speak to the “sheep” that they (the government, the media) hope we are, that we’ve become. I don’t rant on the subject of politics because I don’t feel educated enough to teach anyone, anything in this realm. I only know what I know.

This is what I know: this current U.S presidential election is one of the most entertaining elections of my life. Did she say, “entertaining”? Yes. And, why? Because I’m not sure our citizenry has a clue about the platforms (are there any that will affect my family’s life in meaningful ways?), the personalities, the histories, the freakin’ CONSTITUTION of the United States of America, nor the candidates’ abilities to lead…so I watch the Democratic and Republican National Conventions, the presidential and v-p debates, the pundits’ commentaries, and wish that none of it mattered. In our lifetimes, I believe all of it has some validity. In the long run, though? Not so much.

The thin veils are showing themselves in all their flowing, transparent ways. Our ancestors are circling their wagons. They’re taking inventory and stoking their fires. I see them behind the chuck wagon, smoking hand-rolled cigarettes, and drinking from jugs of hooch, talking of unknown futures, and hoping for nothing more than to wake tomorrow when the sun will allow them to make it to the next stop, to feed their babies, and to plant a few seeds in a field of gold. I see them welcoming those of us who work hard to stay in this place, in this time…then letting go when we’re compelled to think our votes can make a difference. I see them laughing at our ignorance.

Where’s my horse, where’s my covered wagon, where’s my ballot? Where’s my vote going to land in a country that thinks my voice is irrelevant, so relies on the Electoral College to speak for me?

The veil is thin enough now for me to enjoy Autumn’s dimming light, and in that low glow, I see all of them in those gold fields – my ancestors and descendants who watch from a safe distance. They’re having some kinda party, ya know?

Halloween is coming, and I recall a time not so long ago, when masks and makeup were fun. The masks and makeup I see on the evening news in the form of politics are not fun. They are fake, just like Halloween allows them to be. Sad, the candidates don’t know they’re playing characters during a holiday feast.

I trust little now. I’m registered to vote, but don’t know that I need bother. I’ll go to the polls anyway, and check the boxes in which I used to believe. I feel my civic duty pulling at a tiny corner of the curtain of my reality. So, I’ll go. But, I let hope take a siesta a few months ago when propaganda became thick with the sticky sap of hype, of preaching, of revenge, of polls, and of downright lies.

I see you there, friends and family. I see you Owen. I see you in the mists. I know you know. Nat, you’re here with me. I hear you. Who should we elect?

If we can’t figure it out yet – we shouldn’t wonder why an inexperienced governor from Alaska appears important to women who don’t know themselves and are afraid to ask; nor whether a tortured VietNam veteran is an advocate of the Iraq war (or any war); nor whether a Harvard-educated friend of the working class makes sense as the leader of a nation of diverse citizens; nor whether “Just Joe”, with over three decades of government experience in Washington, DC, offers common sense in the chance he might need to become the chief executive of the land. If we can figure it out, the only ticket that makes sense is: Obama/Biden.

The thin veil is waving in the wind, and those on the other side are yelling, “Trick or Treat!”

I never realized how much this song reminds me of The Ramones…
“Da da da da, de da da da da, I wanna be sedated…”

Please, somebody, just sedate me, and let me wake up after the elections. I don’t think i can handle much more of this. I get hopeful for a second, then crash back down to reality. I wonder about armeggedon, buy cat food, canned beans and ammo, then just come home to watch videos, read blogs and finally give up and take a nap.

Lift not the painted veil which those who live
Call Life: though unreal shapes be pictured there,
And it but mimic all we would believe
With colours idly spread,–behind, lurk Fear
And Hope, twin Destinies; who ever weave
Their shadows, o’er the chasm, sightless and drear.
I knew one who had lifted it–he sought,
For his lost heart was tender, things to love,
But found them not, alas! nor was there aught
The world contains, the which he could approve.
Through the unheeding many he did move,
A splendour among shadows, a bright blot
Upon this gloomy scene, a Spirit that strove
For truth, and like the Preacher found it not.

Welcome to a blog I never wanted to write…

Reading the page below entitled, "Mystery O. Riley" will give you some background, and if you find our mystery something you'd like to follow, please come back often. Losing our 20-year-old son isn't the way it's supposed to be, as we always hear people say. But, for some of us, it is the way it is. And, there's nothing to do, but find a path on this unthinkable road, through an unimaginable forest of grief, and in our case...an unforgiveable river of mystery.